I am currently approaching 38 weeks pregnant with a son. A second miracle. A baby boy, due just three years after his sister - both now are children that, long ago, Brandon and I heard (multiple) doctors say would not happen naturally.
For years, as you may know, we begged the Lord to overturn that ruling. He didn’t do so in our timing, but mercifully chose to do so within His.
Hallelujah for His better plan.
After our daughter was born, we weren’t sure what the total yield of children granted to us would be - but over this past summer we found out that God’s sovereign plan for us contains, at least, one more.
As we prepared for family expansion, we knew the gift that was being extended to us.
It was more than just a second child - it was further offering of what was, at one point, counted an impossibility.
Abundance where we had once perceived lack.
And not just the giving of a gift in the moment; but one that compounds upon itself as the days and years tick by.
We have now experienced three years, so far, of witnessing how God uses parenthood to demonstration His power and goodness to us - and how that vivid picture and immersive experience only deepens and grows as His Created little ones do.
Right in front of our eyes, we have seen how a promised infant evolves into a sweet and sanctifying toddler; and all the joy and challenges that brings.
Loving her has been more beautiful than I ever anticipated…and now still He has said - there is more.
Hallelujah for His generosity.
However, as this new pregnancy, this second gift, has progressed - it’s lost its feeling as such.
Pregnancy has a special way of wearing on a mother towards the end, in general. But the last couple months have entirely thrown me for a loop.
I was 29 weeks pregnant when I sat on the couch one night, nestled up against Brandon’s side, watching some kind of mindless television show before bed, and suddenly felt contractions.
“Weird”.
They felt different than Braxton Hicks, and before I knew it they were coming stronger and more regularly. For 2 full hours I would contract every 3 minutes; terrified about what my body was doing at such an early stage.
I didn’t have a baby that night, but what followed turned into 8 weeks worth of a kind of difficult I didn’t know how to navigate.
One that included multiple hospital trips; steroid shots to develop our little babes premature lungs (said to give him a fighting chance at breathing, should he arrive so early); multiple shots for me in attempt to stop what my body was doing, and weeks upon weeks of furthered contractions.
Some days the contractions were mild and few and far between… other days (and/or nights) they were regular, highly uncomfortable, and would last for hours on end. I was told the only thing I could do to prevent them from becoming labor was to rest.
Brandon’s mom (praise the Lord, and THANK YOU Julie) had flown into town immediately following that first night of contractions, and I truly believe the Lord used her to hold and slow the progress and keep our boy where he needed to be. With her stepping in to care for the house and Everly (and Brandon and I), I was able to rest as instructed.
However, 8 weeks of “rest” while anticipating early labor and enduring constant contractions quickly wears on the mental and emotional self. I was restless and exhausted. I was more aware of my lack of understanding and foresight than ever before. I had much grief over suddenly losing the last bit of time I thought I had of being a family of three. I had much fear over what would happen to our baby boy and how far he and I would make it.
Layered feelings created overwhelm. The act of rest became paralyzing. As I sat in the chaos and idleness of my new normal - I began to forget that the gift that was still a gift, from my God who was still good.
Emotions and exhaustion made the thought of drawing near to the Lord seem impossible; so my need for abiding, many days, became insufficiently answered by a casual awareness of the stated character of God.
Personal experience became a distance memory, current discomfort became my world, and all I could see and feel was that the current circumstances were not within my preference by any means, and my strength was failing.
When does a gift stop feeling like a gift?
I think I’ve decided that it’s when it brings difficulty and strips away the illusion of control.
However - I’ve been reminded, as of late, that these descriptors actually define many of God’s sweetest and most necessary gifts.
It’s absolutely okay, and healthy, and biblical to acknowledge what is hard. But when I become apathetic and idle in a submersion of self pity - I miss the fullness of benefit found in the gift of operating outside of my own capacity. I gain the ability to lament; but any lament not offered before the Lord proves ultimately fruitless rather than bringing the intended good yield.
It seems the danger in mistaking a hard gift for a bad portion is that, by doing so, I miss out on functioning within the truth and promise from scripture that my God draws near to the broken-hearted, and that trials produce endurance, character, and hope.
Even what feels painful and heavy is not without purpose and redemption, in the hands of my good and gracious God - AND, there is a unique comfort available to me as I wade the waters between here and the beautiful eternity He has secured for me with Him.
He has set me on a race, with intentionality and care that I cannot fathom. And he has called me to run it, with endurance, as I consider the work of Jesus and allow that work to prevent me growing weary and giving up. (Hebrews 12)
However, in recent months, I have found myself looking for escape, rather than endurance. Because the former is found with ease within myself; and the latter requires an effort of my heart to be postured in seeking His face uncomfortably.
But something in his tender call has recently drawn me back to intentional worship from nearsighted frustration; and, through that graciously provoked worship, I’m led to a remembrance of what sweet mercies await me in the acts of lament offered up to a God who bends down to listen.
Hallelujah for His compassion, and His heart that sympathizes with us in our weakness.
I write all of this to say (both to your heart, and to mine) that all of it is true.
If you’re wondering if it’s possible that the God who formed the foundations of the earth sees you and cares for the details of your life in a way that intimately meets your needs and covers your sin and offers to you a forever with Him through the blood of Jesus - it’s true.
If you’re unsure whether or not His grace is truly sufficient to bring comfort to the situations and circumstances that weigh on your shoulders and weary your heart and mind - it is.
If you can’t understand how the hope found in Jesus could make a difference in what is taking place in your home, heart, and world - it does.
If you don’t feel certain that in His presence there is fullness of joy - it’s there.
The Lord truly is a keeper of His promises - and I’ve found these all to prove concrete time and time again.
They are not merely a nicety, or an empty comfort, or a good thought, or a self-improvement thought strategy.
They are a firm foundation, unshakable truths, and consistently mind blowing realities.
He really loves us that much; and the proof of it is really sweeter than we can fathom.
I find this every time that I turn into His readied arms - that His offer of Himself to us in a fallen world really is the greatest portion; and our acceptance of Him will not leave us lacking or put us to shame. We will be satisfied.
I’m learning that emotions in light of circumstance are a necessary part of being human, beneficial for the act of processing, but also deeply tempting as a distraction away from the better portion. And I don’t want to miss what He curates for me to savor.
What I feel is a reasonable reaction; but not necessarily a truthful response. It’s a mile marker, but not a rest stop.
I can acknowledge it; but to sit in it is to exit the race without the reward.
Hallelujah for a God who redeems and renews and brings life. I continue to wait on His timing to do so now I’m this hard gift.
As I wait; here is a little snippet of a poem I wrote at somewhere around 3am a few weeks back, in the midst of middle-of-the-night contractions. I hope it encourages you to run, with and to Him.
I’m in labor
But
Not the kind that, in turn, moves forward into a soon realized finish of miraculous new life.
Not a labor that has, so far, produced an ability to cradle a child in my arms upon completion of the temporary pains.
Rather
An endless cycle of tightness and discomfort that
holds on to me as we sit idle - not moving forward - but remaining isolated and still in a meaningless exertion of energy that takes me no where and leaves me worn
And yet. Your directive to me is to run.
Not listlessly or aimlessly. Not in angst away from turmoil
But to run the exact race you’ve set before me
And to do so with endurance that I cannot find within myself
And mercifully
You’ve not kept secret where that endurance is found
It’s not there, in the places I tend to look
I search my efforts my comfort my convenience
Overturn obstacles and call upon man for support
But you speak a better Word, an easier yoke
As I labor on - you take your hand upon my face
And you gently point my view towards the only hope, the only security, the only strength - and now as I sit, I can also see.
I see His weakened and bloodied body; utterly destroyed and also entirely renewed
Restored to glory
Strengthened to power and seated at the right hand of God
Given over
For me
I have what I need
I know you’re in the stillness and the movement - however fruitless and draining the hold and the jostle may feel.
I know who you are and what you do.
You are God who brings the harvest,
Even to places and times where
Really any kind of fruit seems beyond all comprehension
You give life and you bring new birth indeed
But
You’re also in the stillness and you don’t waste the pain I feel
Meet me in this run - for with you, it will not be for noth
